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I hear a chain slide, and then she’s opening the door for me.
One look at her, and I’m fucking hard again. She was cute at the club, but now she’s wearing a little button-down top and a pair of jeans that fit her curves like a glove. Bare feet. Still wearing makeup, but not plastered all over her face like it was at the club. The pigtails are gone, and her hair tumbles down her back.
“Are you ready?”
She nods and picks up one of the bags on the living room floor. I take it, then grab the second one.
“Is it okay if I bring a laptop?”
“Bring whatever you want,” I tell her, and she grabs a small bag in addition to the ones I’m carrying.
I can’t take my eyes off her. I should have sent a driver instead.
This woman, the sight of her, the smell of her, the things I imagine doing to her
…all of it has me feeling like I’m already out of my mind.
“Come on,” I growl at her, and she jumps a little at my tone.
Fuck. I don’t want her scared. I have no idea what the hell’s come over me tonight. But that’s a lie. I know exactly what it was, and it’s wrapped up in the curvaceous, silky-haired, soft-spoken little thing leading me to the elevator.
One month. Mine.
I plan to make the most of it.
We take the elevator down to the ground floor. She’s kept her eyes down the entire time, and I have to confess that I didn’t expect a stripper to be this shy. I mean, she did say it was her first night, but I assumed she meant her first night at the Calla Club.
This woman, out of the slutty costume and the fuck-me heels, doesn’t strike me as the stripper type. And I just paid a million dollars for her, making her, very likely, one of the most high-priced escorts in the world.
I nearly laugh. I must be out of my goddamned mind.
We make our way to the door and I open it for her. She murmurs a quiet “thanks” and as she walks past me, the scent of her envelops me again, just as it did at the club. She smells like something sweet and citrusy, and I wonder if that scent is everywhere, if, were I to sample her sweet pussy later, I’d be surrounded by it, covered in it.
I’m so fucking hard I can barely walk.
“We’re over here,” I mutter, nodding toward my red and black Bugatti Veyron with more than a little relief that it’s still there. I half-expected to find some dickhead in the process of trying to steal it. I glance at Samantha, and she’s staring at the car, then glancing at me.
“I should have asked for more,” she says, and the hint of self-deprecating humor in her voice almost makes me laugh. “Now I think I sold myself short.”
“Well. I know this car gives me a good ride. How good a ride you are remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. She blushes prettily and glances away.
I open her door and wait as she slides into the passenger seat. I close her door then toss her bags into the trunk, taking a deep breath before I get into the driver’s seat.
The engine purrs to life and I pull away from the curb. It’s about a twenty-minute drive to my apartment in the South Beach neighborhood. The huge steel-and-glass tower overlooking the bay is the first building I was in charge of for my father’s construction business. I oversaw every part of its construction, and when it opened up, I took the top floor for myself.
I never take anyone there. Even Marlena, who I was technically engaged to for a little while, never slept there.
And I’m taking this stripper there.
Did all of my brain flow down to my dick or something?
“So your dad’s in trouble with the Mafia?” I ask, shaking off my irritation over wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“Yeah. He was doing a good job paying them back, and I kick in everything I can, too, but it’s not enough since he lost his job.”
“What kind of work does your dad do?”
“He’s an electrician. He’s been trying to get started as an independent contractor since losing his job, but he’s not great at putting himself out there and getting business.”
